Departure is at 7:15am on the Fourth of July, so I drive to Lisa’s on the third.
Lisa’s a sweetie and she drives me to the airport, after we both have to get up at around four-thirty in the morning. Too damn early.
Smooth hand-off, plane flies on time, me with a nice window seat.
The air is none too clear with the early morning light, not much to see on the ground.
Mississippi River passes below, cloud shrouded.
About half way out, the clouds fall away and dry stream beds and low hills announce the beginnings of the deserts to come.
Off in the distance, the snows of the Colorado Rockies appear.
Over the serious mountains, and it’s beautiful, as usual.
I notice that this time, the snow seems to be clinging to the ridgelines instead of down in the ravines like last time. The snow also tends to frequent the northeast side of things, and with the morning sun blasting down on it, it takes me a bit of time to figure out that east part of things, and then I realize that the exact same sun angle, hitting the western side of the ridges in the afternoon will do so with a much warmer air temperature, thus melting snow on that side. So there.
The Rockies subside, and the clouds come back, once again.
On the airplane, I get lucky when the stewardess hands me five bags of peanuts and then later on, the same stewardess awards me a free sandwich, which, most unusually for something eaten on an airplane, is delicious.
Kindest thanks for that, Delta people.
And, speaking of the Delta people, the guy on the microphone announcing things for the benefit of us huddled masses in the seats, is funny as hell with a delightfully sardonic delivery. We are told that “Captain Crunch” has said this, or that. And then it’s “The Captain and Tennille.” The crew at one time is “Bob and Carol, and Ted and Alice.” We learn that Salt Lake City is an “exotic” destination. We get a snide remark about working on a holiday. We hear a warning about our personal “problems” stowed in the overhead bins. It just goes on and on. The guy is on a roll and it’s a damn shame I’ve only heard this sort of thing on an airplane for this one time only in my life.
It’s well appreciated.
We begin our descent.
A sinister gap briefly appears in the clouds all around, and, rimmed by a moody dark gray mass of condensed water, more snow-covered mountains appear off in the distance, not all of which are below us.
We’re almost into Salt Lake City, smothered in a dull gray softness, and I’ve seen rocks through the gray at least once, and it gives me pause as we thrum along blindly.
Beneath the ceiling at last, and the Front Range heaves into view, Salt Lake City hard against it.
We wheel around to our final approach heading and the Great Salt Lake appears, rimmed by mountain spurs, vast and gray.
A few more choice words from our delightfully sarcastic attendant on the mic, and bump bump, roll roll, and out we come from the plane, and here I sit.
But not before the hard drive in this computer gives up the ghost.
But I’ve cleverly planned ahead, already knowing the drive to be sickly, and brought myself a spare.
Unfortunately, what I did not bring was the weency Phillips screwdriver required to remove the cover and extract the wayward hard drive.
I lamely ask around, employees and fellow travelers, but no luck. Hell, just TRY to bring a screwdriver into an airport and see what happens at security.
But then, as if by magic, a tech guy walks by with a small tool belt on his hip and I ask him if he has a screw driver. Not only does he have one, but it’s exactly the right one.
Too cool.
A thousand and one thanks.
And so, here I am, gleefully bashing away at this keyboard.
As I never grow tired of saying: It’s always better to be lucky than smart.
Fly to Palm Springs in a window seat on the left side of the plane, but uncharacteristic clouds over the desert block all visibility of the ground till we’re almost there.
Things finally broke up, and I looked down, trying to find a familiar landmark or two, and after just a couple of minutes, Dale Dry Lake came into view and as I started scanning for Newt’s studio, we banked left and more or less flew directly over where it would have been, but I could not see it through the floorboards of the plane. Which is probably just as well, right? Over the Pinto Basin, bank right, Salton Sea in the distance, glide on down into Palm Springs.
Open door, down ramp, and the desert heat enfolds me. Today, for whatever reason, there’s actual humidity in the air.
Newt is right there, and we’re off.
Very nice to be back.
I miss this place more than I realize, and when I return it all hits me at once.
Uphill, couple of stops for provisions and food, and a brand new computer for Newt, which is the ostensible excuse for me being out here. Newt is a long-time Mac guy who’s finally had a bellyful of the way things have been going with Apple, and has decided to get a Windows machine, and requested my assistance in getting the thing tweaked and tuned, which, after all, is the main thing I do for a living.
I am only too glad to be able to help.
In the distance, cumulonimbus towers over the mountains. Never seen that before out here.
Coming into Twentynine Palms, and it’s raining for real, somewhere out over Joshua Tree National Park. Amazing.
Roll on, and then we’re on Sunvale Road, and everything’s right there where it used to be.
Newt informs me that they had a bit of rain a couple of days ago, and the creosote is vibrantly green as a result.
Ahh……the smell of creosote in the air.
Indescribable.
Cathy’s home, and warm greetings are exchanged. Bonzo and Stella are glad to see me again, too, and dance and caper all around me, getting reacquainted with this new human in their dogosphere.
Pitch right into Newt’s new computer with a thoroughgoing decrappification followed by the installation of useful software that won’t load it down with a shit-ton of useless “features.”
I spend about three or four hours on it and I’m not finished, even then. But my batteries have run down, and I’m exhausted. Got up really early to catch the plane in Florida, spent most of the day flying, and after this little work session, I’m beat.
Go rest in the Hell Trailer, except that it’s not the Hell Trailer anymore.
Newt painted over the flames, and now they’re gone.
And so it goes with lots of other things.
Newt and Cathy’s art is as much verb as it is noun, and nothing stays quite the same. Stuff disappears. Stuff appears. Stuff changes. Stuff stays the same.
I am delighted with every last bit of it of course, and being able to hang out in a place where not one but two professional artists live, is one of the great benefits and joys of being able to stay out here.
Cathy eventually comes by with the dogs as the sun closes with the western horizon, and invites me along for a walk through the creosote.
And it’s as if my fatigue never existed.
So we take ourselves a walk, examine some interestingness here and there, marvel at the sun going behind a distant raincloud just as it’s setting, and then we return.
Very nice. Very fucking nice to be back in the splendid desolation with no one around, nothing to do, and an eternity to contemplate it.
A bit more work on Newt’s machine, a few questions answered, and as the light begins to fail, it’s good night time and I return to the trailer.
Sit out on the folding chair on the slab, and watch the stars begin to come out, sharing the sky with a friendly crescent moon.
Dark eventually descends for real, and then, as a final little note of welcome, the Fourth of July display at the marine base erupts in the far distance, and I watch from the slab behind the trailer.
The occasional whump and thump greet my ears as the display winds on.
Finally, it’s over and I enter the trailer and lay myself down to sleep.
Damn but it’s good to be back here.
Thanks guys.
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